Keeper of the McCoy
by KLMeri
Summary: The traditional family Trick-or-Treat is about to be ruined for the littlest McCoy, and reinforcements are called in. Problem is, they want to take care of Joanna's father as much as they do Joanna. K/S, pre-K/S/M.


**Title** : Keeper of the McCoy  
 **Author** : klmeri  
 **Fandom** : Star Trek AOS  
 **Pairing** : Kirk/Spock, pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
 **Word Count** : 8,703  
 **Summary** : The traditional family Trick-or-Treat is about to be ruined for the littlest McCoy, and reinforcements are called in. Problem is, they want to take care of Joanna's father as much as they do Joanna.  
 **A/N** : Written for Halloween Round of McSpirkHolidayFest; based on the prompt: _By some miracle, Bones gets Joanna for Halloween and he promises to take her trick-or-treating. But then he wakes up that morning and he's sick as a dog, literally cannot get out of bed. He feels terrible about the thought of disappointing his little girl. But have no fear, because Jim and Spock are more than up to the task of saving Halloween for Jo._

This fanfic marks an extremely special milestone for me - achieving 2,000,000 words! It's been four, _long_ years in my eyes since that first million word count, and now - FINALLY - I made it! To all my friends and readers who supported me along the way, I would have let RL interfere with this dream and given up a long time ago without your positive comments and enthusiasm. A special shout-out to **hora_tio** for never failing to be at my side as I struggled through each story on my way to meeting my goal, and to my friend **captainkay** for challenging me to write another million words because she believed I could do it. I love y'all.

* * *

 _Old Georgia_

The earth is solid and welcoming, the air slightly crisp, and the surrounding landscape a lovely painting of autumn that could steal the breath away. Yet there is nothing lovelier to Dr. Leonard McCoy than the sight directly in front of him.

"My little pumpkin!" he cries.

He can't tell who is hugging the breath out of whom more. Joanna's grip has grown stronger since the last time they saw each other, her spindly arms now more in keeping proportion-wise with the rest of her body. She seems intent on squeezing him until something cracks.

How he has missed her.

"All right, all right," he concedes when it becomes necessary to breathe. "You missed me. I get the point, plum."

Joanna lets him go and obligingly drops back to the ground. Wrinkling her nose, she decides, "I don't like either of those."

"Hm. Sweet pea?"

A fierce shake of the head.

"Dumpling."

"Ew!"

"Oh I know," he crows, "peach!" He tweaks his daughter's nose and grins. "My little Georgia peach."

"Daddy," the girl bemoans, rolling her eyes in true McCoy fashion, "your jokes are the _worst_."

He lays a hand over his heart. "Why, daughter mine, I'm aggrieved. Y'all know my sense of humor is my winnin' charm."

Joanna snickers. "That's not what Mama says."

"Lord preserve me, whatever your momma thinks don't bear repeating." He holds out his hand, which the child takes obediently. "Let's go on inside. I smell somethin' delicious."

"That's pie! Granny's makin' pie on account of you coming home since for _evah_." Her accent is an exact replica of Leonard's mother's, and that makes them both chuckle.

Joanna swings their joined hands as she and her father take the path leading to the porch of the McCoy home, a legacy from his great-great-grandfather's farming days. The structure has all the modern installations of their era but the outer shell of it has retained the look and feel of a farmhouse from two centuries ago.

"What kind of pie?" Leonard inquires as they ascend the porch.

"Well," Joanna says happily, "there's apple, and peach of course, and I wanted pumpkin too 'cause it's what we're supposed to have 'fore Halloween."

Internally he sighs with resignation, not wanting to spoil his daughter's mood. His mother will cook a meal for ten given the chance, but that doesn't mean there will be ten people to enjoy it. He's explained to her time and time again that she shouldn't stress herself by making so much, and even more pointedly has tried to explain that while the food is always delicious, it usually isn't the healthiest option they could have.

Leonard's mother's retort is always the same: "Why, maybe we should just let the replicator make our dinner then."

The threat is genuine—and effective. Replicated food tastes terrible, not to mention would be sacrilegious to serve for a family occasion. Besides, Leonard has had his fill of the bland stuff on the Enterprise, so much so that he thinks it might have ruined his ability to enjoy real food.

But his brain thinks differently. At the smell of those baking pies, it signals his saliva glands into overdrive.

In the end, Leonard caves with nary a complaint. "Maybe one piece before supper," he decides, opening the screen door to allow his daughter to scamper inside.

"Of each," Joanna calls back, already heading for the kitchen. "Granny! Look how skinny Daddy is! He's been _starved_ and needs some pie right away!"

Leonard hears his mother's chide, "Don't run in the kitchen, Joanna," and then, "Starved, you say? I knew it! I knew that starship slop was about as nutritious as an old leather boot! Leonard Horatio McCoy, you come in here and sit down at this table." He hears the telltale sounds of her fixing a plate.

Leonard grins, shrugs out of his jacket, and remarks to the old house, "It's sure good to be home."

* * *

Hours later and fed to the point of immobility, Leonard relaxes on the porch swing next to his mother, sharing a blanket and watching Joanna play in the yard. Technically his daughter is supposed to be using their outdated leaf-blower to clear the ground but she keeps making big piles of leaves and scattering them again by jumping into the middle.

"When you were that age, you did the same thing," his mother says without looking up from her knitting needles. "Drove your father crazy."

"He was too meticulous, Ma."

Eleanor McCoy pauses to stare at her son over the rim of reading glasses, a pair Leonard had found for her when she refused the procedure to have her eyesight corrected. "A meticulousness you inherited, child. Don't tell me you can stand the sight of someone making a mess of your work."

He can't, which she well knows. But he indicates Joanna, arguing, "That's her work, not mine."

With a soft laugh, his mother returns to the project in her lap. Leonard tracks the steady progress of her hands, noting with approval that there are no fine tremors or swelling from arthritis. "The medicine workin' all right?"

"As best it can."

"Good." He tucks the blanket more securely around his left shoulder, feeling a slight chill despite the evening being so warm for the middle of autumn. "That's a hat, right? Who's it for this time?" His mother has a penchant for knitting outerwear for family, friends, co-workers—anyone she knows or knows of, really.

Eleanor lifts up the partly formed cap for her son to see. A weird little point sticks out from the side of it, almost like the hat's made to fit over...

"Ma!" he gasps, suddenly cognizant of who the recipient must be.

"Well don't you think his ears get cold on this planet? Earth sure is nothin' like Vulcan is—Vulcan was," his mother amends delicately, setting back to work.

Leonard brings the gentle rock of their swing to a standstill. "Have you lost your mind? You can't give that to Spock!"

One sharp glance from her is normally all the warning he needs to shut his mouth.

This time, however, his mouth has a mind of its own. "You can't," he starts, stops. "By god, he's not..." _Family_. Something in Leonard won't allow him to finish that statement.

And rightly so, for his mother obviously objects to the mere thought of it. "Whose fault is that?"

Leonard tugs at his shirt collar. Why is the damn thing strangling him all of a sudden? "Ain't no one's fault. It's just how things are. Spock's perfectly happy where he is."

"I made mittens for your captain too, and you'll see to it that your _friends_ get them." That isn't a request.

Leonard brings a hand up to his temple, hardly surprised that this conversation has inspired a headache. Thinking about Spock with Jim, and vice versa, nowadays often gives him a funny feeling. For that very reason, he has vowed to stay out of their private business.

Unfortunately some of Leonard's friends (and now his family too, it seems) believe he is the root cause of some bigger issue, like playing the idiot when he could just confess his—

Immediately he shuts down that line of thinking. In fact, with a bit of peevishness, he turns the conversation on its head. "How's Jocelyn?"

"Oh, she'll be engaged to that Treadway fellow before the year is out," his mother predicts, her hint of temper gone as quickly as it had appeared.

A knot forms in Leonard's throat that is difficult to swallow past. Maybe he shouldn't have asked that question after all. "She's... happy then."

His mother gives him another one of those sidelong looks. "It's about time you were too. Joanna likes Clay well enough, but you'll always be her father, Leonard. You've made it clear your commission is important to you, and we all accepted it will keep you from coming home most days. But that doesn't mean you have to separate the two—your family down here and your career up there."

"What're you driving at?"

"I think you're worried Joanna might feel left out if you have yourself more people to love when you're away from her."

"Maybe I'm just afraid to love again," he counters softly, watching Joanna scoop up a handful of leaves to toss into the air.

"I don't believe that," comes his mother's staunch reply. "You've never been a coward."

Leonard huffs and, daring to meet her gaze, is relieved to find compassion there.

She assures him, "You don't have to worry about Joanna. Those of us who love you want you to be happy wherever you are. It'll be a blessing, understand?"

He fiercely blinks away tears.

Eleanor takes pity on him, turning the cap over in her hands and musing aloud, "Do you think your Mr. Spock will like this color?"

"The color won't much matter to him," Leonard tells her once he has a better handle on himself. "That you gifted it to him will."

"Huh," she mutters, "that's a logical response."

Unable to help it, Leonard barks out a laugh, in the process catching his daughter's attention and prompting a cheerful wave in their direction. "Spock's crowning grace... logic."

Eleanor clucks, "One should appreciate the differences from ourselves in others."

"Ho boy, do I! Let me tell you what happened last month on an away mission to one of those dreadful dilithium-mining colonies. Jim, Spock, and I got ourselves trapped on the asteroid in the company of a lunatic who'd been making others believe the mines were haunted. He had discovered a valuable ore, you see, that was worth more than dilithium and wanted the operations to shut down so he could have it for his own..."

Joanna has ventured to the porch railing and hunkered there, eyes brightened by the prospect of hearing about her father's adventures in deep space.

Leonard settles more fully into the story-telling, and for the moment all the McCoys are content in each other's company.

* * *

The chill which persists throughout the evening is a warning Leonard fails to recognize. Come the next morning, as he awakens to realize he can barely lift his head off his pillow, the truth is inescapable: somehow, somewhere, he had caught a damn cold.

Well, the man thinks, dragging his body out from under his bed covers, it can't be helped. He has a list of things to do over the course of the next two days, the most important of which is escorting his daughter to the city hall for the annual Trick-or-Treat. Joanna hasn't missed this event since she was a year-old, whether in the company of him, her grandmother, or her mother and the new boyfriend Clay. Leonard will be damned if she misses the affair on account of him.

Where had he put his luggage? It has a medkit buried inside, as he never travels without one.

The booms and bangs from the hallway mean that Joanna is already wide-awake and about. As the sounds grow nearer, Leonard grabs the t-shirt he had shrugged off in the middle of the night when he had woken up hot and dons it in time for his bedroom door to open a sliver.

"Are you awake?" comes the tiny whisper from the other side of the door.

Leonard clears his throat and affirms, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice, "I'm up, Jo."

The door slams open, and Joanna flies in.

Leonard flings out a hand, stopping her nearly mid-leap. Her eyes grow wide. He has never prevented her from jumping on his bed (and subsequently on him) before.

"Hand me that bag, darlin'," he requests politely.

Her eyes grow wider. "You don't sound right."

"It's just a cold, darling. Probably from the travel. I have some medicine in my bag that should clear it right up."

Joanna retrieves his things and dumps them on the bed next to him. As he riffles through the luggage's contents, he asks her, "Have you had breakfast?" A brief glance at the chronometer had informed him that he had slept through the hour when his mother usually served breakfast.

"Granny said not to wake you 'cause you looked plum-tired last night, so we saved you a plate. She's gone to see the other grannies in her garden club."

"They're not all grannies," Leonard tells his daughter dryly. Lord knows, his mother had thought right after his divorce he ought to date one of the younger club members just to stop the slide back to bachelorhood. Leonard hadn't been keen on that idea, and so had accepted the first decent proposal for escape that had come along, namely which happened to come from the drunken rambling of a Starfleet recruiter sitting next to him at a local bar.

"They're older than me," Joanna responds primly.

He huffs, which turns into a cough and leads to a painful attempt to clear out the congestion in his airway. Joanna hurries off to fetch him a glass of water. In the meantime, Leonard uses the moment alone to scan himself with a small tricorder and study the results. He's relieved to discover he does in fact have a strain of the common cold, nothing worse. An injection of the standard cocktail of symptom relievers, some rest, and he should recover without too much trouble.

Sighing, Leonard finds the proper hypospray and administers the prescription to himself. He will have to be ready to face the day no matter what.

* * *

Leonard is worn out by the afternoon.

After a session of pumpkin painting (by which Leonard mostly watched Joanna do the painting), he remains in the kitchen with his mother hovering nearby.

Eleanor wants to know, "Do I need to fetch Dr. Cairns? He still practices."

Leonard shields his eyes from the sunlight coming through the kitchen window; it isn't helping his migraine. "Cairns is older than this house, Ma. He _shouldn't_ be practicing on anybody. 'Sides, I'm a doctor, remember? I can handle this."

"Then why do you look so pale?" She places a hand on his forehead and fusses, "With a fever no less!"

"It's all right. I just," Leonard begins, grimacing and bracing a hand against the kitchen table as he comes to his feet, "need to lie down for a bit. Is it okay if—"

His mother practically shoves him from behind. "Go rest!" After watching Leonard pass safely through the kitchen archway, she calls, "Joanna, bring me that PADD from the living room."

Leonard lingers a moment at the bottom of the stairway leading to the second floor of the house. "Don't call Cairns."

"Don't tell your mother what to do," the elder McCoy retorts, her expression softening more than her tone. "You go on to bed now, Leonard. I won't call the doctor."

Trusting her to keep her word, he makes the slow trek upstairs. Joanna comes out of the living room once Leonard on the landing and hands Eleanor a data padd. Then the child turns around to watch her father with a look of concern to rival her grandmother's.

"I'm fine," Leonard insists for the last time and flaps his hand as casually as he can manage. "See y'all at dinner."

From the archway, his mother sighs, hugs the PADD to her chest, and returns to the kitchen.

* * *

 _San Francisco_

En route to his apartment's singular replicator, Jim Kirk croons to his growling stomach, "Never fear, little one. Food you want, food you shall have." Thanks to his best friend, who also happens to be his primary physician, he has learned over time not to ignore the pangs of hunger. The blinking console on the wall catches Jim's attention, so he makes a quick detour in that direction.

 _Finally!_ the man thinks. Bones deserves a piece of his mind for not messaging him sooner about a safe arrival in Georgia. Jim wouldn't have had to worry so much if Leonard had agreed to use the transporter station like everyone else; instead Kirk had had to watch his friend climb into an old shuttlecraft for a coast-to-coast trip which with today's transporter technology should take no more than a blink of an eye.

McCoy's an old-fashioned boy. Jim has learned to accept that about him.

The message is from the McCoy homestead, it turns out, but not from Leonard. As Jim listens to Bones's mother, Eleanor McCoy, explain the reason for her call, he braces a hand against the wall. Automatically, when the message finishes, he plays it again.

The person Jim shares his apartment with enters the living area at a sedate pace, data padd in hand. Jim turns from the console. "You said you wanted to attend the M-5 conference at the Daystrom Center tomorrow, right?"

"Affirmative." Spock inclines his head, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as he delineates the tension in Kirk's stance. "Is something the matter, Jim?"

"Priority blue," Jim says.

Spock eats up the distance between them swiftly, then, and Jim steps aside to allow Spock access to the comm console and the message ready to be replayed again. Spock listens to Eleanor in silence only one time.

"Spock," Jim begins, "I can go."

Wordlessly, Spock drops his gaze to his PADD. His fingers fly across its screen gracefully, almost like a choreographed dance. A moment later, he states, "We will go together. I have cancelled my reservation. If you can be ready in twenty minutes, we should make the shuttle to the Bay's central transporter station."

Jim breathes a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Of course." The response means, _One could not act otherwise._

They had long ago agreed when they established a code to facilitate quick command decisions that Leonard McCoy needed to be on the list. Any imminent danger to McCoy would negatively impact the ship (not to mention one commanding officer in particular) and had to be addressed with haste. By extension the color blue solely referred to McCoy. When coupled with a discreet communication from a trusted ally, it could encompass anything from small matters of concern (Leonard fell asleep at his desk again) to life-endangering circumstances (the enemy captured him, or Dr. McCoy ran straight into the crossfire in a crazy attempt to save a life). Eleanor knows by contacting Jim and Spock with a voice message that begins with small talk, the pair would understand that she believes Leonard could use their help but circumstances are not dire enough to warrant immediate action.

Jim hasn't determined that line yet, when he should react without delay and when he can wait to see what happens. He tends to err on the side of caution, treating every McCoy-related alert as high priority. In the spirit of full disclosure, Jim admitted this fault to Spock from the start of their relationship. Spock, even now, seems to have no issue with it. There has definitely been a time or two that Spock himself overreacted to a Priority Blue.

Spock touches Jim's arm lightly as Jim pivots away, intending to return to the bedroom to pack a bag. When he has Jim's full attention, he hands Jim an apple from a nearby counter.

Jim smiles. "You know me too well."

"I know only that I am required by order of your physician to ensure your meals are taken regularly and are of substance." Spock adds, "We should have time for more while waiting in the queue."

"You and Bones," jokes Kirk, taking a bite out of the apple to show Spock that he does appreciate the gesture. "Together you could be a man's worst nightmare."

"I prefer to believe the opposite."

Oh yes, they do inspire good dreams. But Jim won't admit that aloud. Simply offering Spock a wink, he strides away.

* * *

 _Old Georgia, McCoy Farmhouse_

A human and a Vulcan exit a hovercar at the end of a country road in the remnants of Old Georgia just as the last vestiges of the sun's orange glow fades behind the horizon. The yard surrounding the two-story house looks like it has recently been designated as a playground for rambunctious hamsters. There is no discernible pattern to the leaf piles and leafless spots.

Spock raises an eyebrow at the chaos.

"Joanna," Jim guesses, and the Vulcan's eyebrow comes down. Something of interest catches Spock's attention at the corner of the house and, locking his hands behind his back, he moves across the yard in that direction.

"Hello! Anyone home?" Jim calls as he reaches the porch. He jogs up the steps and waves in front of the screen door at the vaguely human-shaped bundle situated in a reclining chair inside the dark interior of the house.

"This is worse than any doctor," comes the complaint as Jim lets himself in. "I can't believe Ma went and actually called you."

"Hi to you too, Bones."

Leonard grunts and begins to struggle out from under several layers of blankets.

"Don't get up," Jim orders.

"Damn it, Jim." McCoy's voice grates like sandpaper on pavement.

Jim sighs, in one regard relieved and in another more concerned than ever. "You look terrible."

"You came all the way here to say that, huh? Lucky me." Leonard snuffles, then proceeds to sneeze. "This ain't so bad. I've had worse."

Jim presses his mouth flat. He doesn't like to remember when times were 'worse' for McCoy. Some of those memories still give him nightmares.

"Have you sought medical attention?" comes the inquiry from behind Jim—Spock, coming through the doorway.

McCoy blinks rapidly, like the sight of a Vulcan in his house is quite astonishing. "Hobgoblin, where'd you come from?"

"Obviously I accompanied Jim."

"Oh. Oh right."

Leonard shifts in his chair with an awkward air, causing one blanket to slide sideways to the floor. Jim immediately bends down to retrieve it.

"Leave it," murmurs McCoy. "I'm roasting under here but Joanna seems to think blankets are the cure-all for being ill."

Jim's concern grows. "Is she like this too?"

"Lord no. If only I had half her energy! Don't worry, I dosed her up with vitamins and boosters for the immune system. She's like my mama anyway. Ain't the type to get sick." The pale-faced man seems to deflate. "Can't say the same for myself, though. I'd just lay down in the back room and put myself out of my misery until the worst passes but Jo is havin' the grandest time playing nurse."

As if on cue, there comes the sound of running feet along an adjacent hallway, accompanied by the yell of "DADDY! DADDY, I FOUND GRANNY'S SLIPPERS!"

The young child who barrels into the room comes to a dead stop at the sight of her father's guests. Her eyes widen. "Mr. Jim."

Jim is relieved to see for himself that Joanna is healthy. "Hello there, JoJo."

But Joanna is too busy staring past him now, her eyes impossibly wider than before. "M-Mr. Spock?"

A swell of fondness fills Jim. He knows how much she likes Spock. Kneeling, Jim opens his arms, demanding, "C'mere you."

To everyone's surprise, Joanna drops the worn-looking slippers in her hands and bursts into tears.

"Jo!" her father cries in alarm.

Heedless of Leonard fighting his blanket cocoon now to reach her, Joanna flies past his chair and Jim, directly into Spock's knees.

"Mr. Spock," she wails as only broken-hearted children can, "my daddy's sick! Can't you fix him?"

Spock's hands curl around her shoulders.

Color returns to Leonard's face. "I'm a doctor. I can fix myself!" The man's sharp tone cracks a moment later. " _Jo_ , c'mon now, leave Mr. Spock alone."

Jim goes over to the upset little girl and picks her up. Joanna has grown plenty in the two years since they last met; her feet dangle on level with his shins. But she is still light enough to be held. He pats Joanna's back as she instinctively winds her arms around his neck. It's obvious she is trying to calm herself down now that she has been detached from Spock.

"Mr. Spock and I are going to take care of your father," Jim promises her.

Joanna sniffles and draws her head back to meet his eyes. "It ain't gonna be easy. Daddy's real grumpy when he feels bad."

"We know. We'll manage."

"Okay." She kicks one of his shins without warning. "Put me down!"

Jim is only too happy to oblige her, rubbing at his sore leg.

Joanna places her hands on her hips as she turns to face her father. "All right, mister, it's time for your bath!"

Leonard's look of alarm returns for a very different reason. "Jo, I don't need a—"

"I don't want no sass outta you!" the child declares, sounding so much like her father that Jim has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. "Mr. Spock, I require your assistance."

Spock comes forward. "Yes, Nurse McCoy?"

"We don't need 'im fainting on the way. You might as well carry him."

"Very well."

"What!" Leonard squeaks as the Vulcan hones in on his chair with a gleam in his dark eyes.

Jim can't help it. Laughter bursts out of him.

It's in their favor that Leonard's body is too weak to allow the infuriated and embarrassed man to do more than protest at the top of his lungs. Jim watches Spock cart him away, Joanna on their heels, the blistering lecture McCoy is delivering completely ignored by both Vulcan and small human child.

When all three are out of sight, Jim turns his gaze to the woman who has been silently observing them from the side for some time. Eleanor McCoy tips her head to him in wordless gratitude.

"Thanks for the call," Jim says.

"We know what's best for my son even if he doesn't."

Jim can't argue with that. He heads in her direction. "Want some help in the kitchen?"

"I seem to recall you know what to do with a rolling pin."

"Ma'am," he jokes, "as long as it doesn't involve me actually handling your appliances, your kitchen should be safe."

"I'll teach you to cook yet, James T. Kirk," she rejoins with more spunk, clearly enjoying the idea of the challenge he might present.

Jim just grins and follows her.

* * *

"I would marry your mother if I could," Jim tells the man he is tucking into bed later that evening. "She makes the most amazing meals."

"Pigs'd fly first. Ma capitalizes on being a widow." Leonard brushes Jim's hand away from his bed covers and tries to fix it in place himself.

Jim grabs that stubborn hand and forces it back by the man's side.

"Jim," Leonard grouses, annoyed.

"Bones," he counters in a more even tone. Then, employing one of his best tactics, "Want to tell me how that bath went with Spock?"

McCoy clamps his mouth shut and glares.

Jim finishes tucking him in and smiles down at his friend's grumpy face. "Joanna said you should have a goodnight kiss."

"Joanna's a little girl with romantic notions. The last thing you need to do is catch what I've got." Leonard frowns. "I can't believe Spock let you come. He knows I don't want you exposed to anything remotely viral. That Vegan Choriomengitis nearly killed you, Jim."

Jim sighs through his nose. "I thought we moved past this."

Leonard's eyes flash. "I'm speaking as your doctor, not your friend. I told you, as I'll tell you again, a compromised immune system takes longer to heal than you think. You have to be careful. Take those shots I gave you, you hear? And, by god," he adds, looking upset, "if you get this cold, I'm going to have a bone to pick with Spock _and_ my mother."

Jim is charmed whether or not that is McCoy's intention. "I think I should kiss you now."

Leonard harrumphs and turns his head away.

Jim pats the man's covered chest instead and rises from the bed. "Sleep well, Bones. We'll be here in the morning."

Leonard's head turns around again as Jim moves toward the door. "Jim," he calls, the sound unusually anxious.

Jim asks, "What is it?"

"I should be okay tomorrow but if I'm not..." The man trails off as if he can't make up his mind about finishing the request.

"I know," Jim replies, because in fact he does. "The Trick-or-Treat. Your mother told me. Don't worry, Spock and I can handle it."

Relief fills McCoy's eyes. "Thank you."

"Focus on getting better, Bones. That's all any of us want. Goodnight."

"Night, Jim."

Jim closes the bedroom door with a soft click on his way out.

* * *

Leonard's hopes for feeling better the following day are no match for the virus raging through his body. Jim is actually on the verge of packing McCoy into his rented hovercar for a mad dash to the nearest hospital when Spock shows up at the threshold to McCoy's bedroom and questions with his usual calm, "Would you care for some chicken soup?"

Leonard stares at Spock with red-rimmed eyes.

"Chicken soup?" Jim repeats on his despondent friend's behalf.

"It would seem so. Eleanor feels this remedy will improve Leonard's condition significantly." Spock blinks. "I can discern no scientific reason why her theory should hold true, but often what seems impossible is still probable. Leonard, if you care to have this nourishment, I shall take you downstairs."

Jim sees it then, the desire in Leonard's eyes for homemade comfort food warring against the indignation of being toted around by Spock.

"Soup," McCoy croaks.

Jim rubs Leonard's back gently, encouraging him, "That's the spirit, Bones."

"But," Leonard insists as Spock starts forward, "you'll help me _walk_ down the stairs."

Spock looks to Jim. Jim nods ever-so-slightly and helps Leonard out of the bed, transferring the man over to Spock carefully. The pair disappears from the bedroom in short order, Spock bearing most of their friend's weight while making a dry Vulcan-ish comment that rouses McCoy enough to respond with a trace of the usual sarcasm.

Jim sinks to the edge of the bed and folds his arms across his chest, more grateful than ever to have Spock in his corner. Now he only has to think of a way to convince McCoy not to fight their help at every turn during his recuperation.

But how?

Eventually it occurs to him that there would be no quicker way past Leonard's defenses than to turn his and Spock's doting on someone else.

In particular, one Joanna McCoy.

Taking care of Joanna won't be much of a hardship, Jim decides. She already likes him and adores Spock. The three of them shall get along just fine.

* * *

Or not.

" _You're_ taking me trick-or-treating?" Joanna echoes in disbelief, staring at Jim like he has grown two heads.

"Joanna, your dad's too sick. In his place, I thought—"

The child stomps a foot on the floor. "But I want Mr. Spock to go with me!"

"Spock will come with us," Jim is quick to assure her.

"Oh." Joanna looks at him through her eyelashes, then. "Can you wear your uniform, Mr. Jim?"

"Of course," he agrees, bemused.

Joanna purses her mouth and confirms, "Good. That's your costume. You can be Captain Kirk."

Jim has no idea what to say to that strange comment except, "Should Spock act as my First Officer?"

The littlest McCoy rolls her eyes. " _No_ , Mr. Jim. He's a Vulcan. He doesn't _need_ a costume."

"I see." Jim drags a hand through his short hair and mutters to himself, "Glad we settled that."

Joanna just shakes her head like he's a poor, confused soul and walks away, leaving Jim by himself on the front porch. Jim takes a moment to look out over the yard, still quite the chaotic sight, and judges the time of day by the angle of the house's shadow. They have to make it to the city hall before sunset. Yes, he concludes, this mission can be completed successfully.

* * *

On the living room couch, Leonard is leaning against Spock's shoulder and looking miserable. He sounds no less miserable as he mumbles his gratitude when Jim tells him that Joanna agreed to let someone else take her to the Trick-or-Treat.

Jim sits down next to him and lifts his gaze over McCoy's bent head to meet Spock's eyes. "Is everything all right?" he asks softly.

"I believe as Leonard felt better after the mid-day meal, he harbored some hope he might escort Miss McCoy tonight. However, Eleanor and I believe he is in no condition to leave the house."

"Don't have to rub it in," murmurs the man in question.

"I find no pleasure in causing you distress," Spock tells McCoy plainly. "It may help you to consider the matter thus: were you not the patient at the moment but the patient's doctor, it would be highly likely you would agree with our assessment."

Leonard gives Jim a pitiful look.

Jim says, "He's right, Bones. It can't be helped. You're staying."

The man sighs. "Then just knock me out of my misery. I don't have the energy anymore to be disappointed."

Jim doesn't buy that. "You mean you _don't_ want to see Joanna in her costume?"

McCoy's bottom lip pokes out, but he says nothing.

"Perhaps you also have no energy to remind your daughter of the dangers of consuming sweet substances in large quantities," Spock muses. "Most unfortunate, as Jim would also benefit from such a lecture."

Leonard's shoulders draw back a little. "Well, now that you mention it..."

Jim fights off a grimace, ready to endure an entire hour of lectures if it will improve Leonard's mood.

McCoy turns on the Vulcan. " _You_ need to stay away from the sweet stuff more than anybody, Mr. Spock."

Spock arches an eyebrow.

Leonard levels a finger at Spock's nose. "That green ice water you call blood ain't no help to you when it comes to metabolizing sucrose. I won't have you inebriated in front of my child."

"Doctor, I will _not_ get drunk." Spock sounds appalled by the mere notion.

Satisfied, Leonard turns to Jim. "You're responsible for Joanna and Spock. If either of them comes back high off candy, I'll kick your ass to Mars."

Jim gives him a salute and a resolute "Yes, sir!"

Leonard plants one hand on Jim's shoulder and his other hand on Spock's back and pushes the men off the couch with an unexpected burst of strength. "Shoo!" the man insists. "I'm gonna lay down here and take a nap."

"You do that, Bones," Jim replies, amused. He beckons Spock farther into the house to praise him. "Good work, Spock."

Spock simply looks at Jim for a moment, then continues on down the hallway. Jim happily follows him.

* * *

Two hours later, Kirk has donned his Starfleet uniform, combed his hair, and polished his boots. Joanna had come by the guest bedroom fifteen minutes prior to warn him she was ready to put on her costume and he had better head downstairs to wait with everyone else to be surprised instead of finishing his book, or there would be hell to pay. That was the gist of her order, anyway, and so now Jim is standing alongside Spock in the small foyer in front of the stairs. Eleanor had rousted her son off the couch only minutes ago before disappearing upstairs to help her granddaughter with the finishing touches of her Halloween costume.

Leonard sways sleepily on his feet to the side of Jim, and so Jim drapes an arm across the man's shoulders to steady him under the guise of being friendly.

"What's she going to wear?" Jim inquires.

"How am I supposed to know?" sighs McCoy. "Joanna wouldn't say a word about it, like it's the biggest secret this side of the galaxy."

Jim winks. "Maybe it is."

Leonard rolls his eyes ceiling-ward.

"She is coming," Spock announces.

Kirk and McCoy face the upper landing together.

A Joanna-sized puff-ball covered in faux brown fur bounces onto the landing and raises its arms overhead to reveal paw-hands sporting claws. The puff-ball roars menacingly. "Rawrrrr!"

Leonard and Jim stare. Spock crosses his arms across his chest, both eyebrows rising upwards.

The brown... animal, Jim supposes that's what Joanna is, hops down the steps excitedly.

Leonard whispers to Jim, "What is that?"

Jim whispers back, "No idea."

Joanna beams at her audience and turns in a full circle to show off more of her costume: the fluffy ears sitting atop her head, the dark fur mane down the back of the outfit, ending at a stubby tail, and long gray whiskers affixed to the round, black tip of her painted nose.

"I showed Granny a picture, and she made it!" she crows joyously. Then opening her mouth wide, Joanna flashes two long, sharp incisors at them and growls.

Spock's eyebrows climb higher. "I see you have studied the appropriate sounds as well."

Her father is less enamoured. "She looks like an evil teddy-bear."

"A sehlat, Doctor," the Vulcan corrects. "I assure you the costume is a very accurate representation of the species."

Jim snaps his fingers at a thought. "That's right, Spock! You had a sehlat as a pet growing up."

Joanna giggles and runs to Spock's side to hug him around the middle. "I knew you liked sehlats, Mr. Spock!"

Spock looks down at the child. "A reasonable assumption."

"Oh no, I didn't guess at all!" claims the little girl, giggling suddenly. "I wrote a letter to Mr. Sarek."

Jim has a sudden coughing fit upon noting the slight widening of his lover's eyes.

"Joanna," Leonard moans, "tell me you didn't."

Joanna frowns at her despairing father. "I think Mr. Sarek was very happy to get a letter. He told me lots of stuff about Mr. Spock. Granny says we should invite him over as a thank-you."

"My father," Spock speculates in a strange tone, "was no doubt intrigued to be contacted by the offspring of one of my colleagues."

Jim also thinks Sarek now has a long list of questions for his son to answer the next time they meet. Jim is going to find himself a front row seat to that little father-son chat.

Taking pity on the still dazed-looking Spock, Jim holds out his hand to Joanna. "C'mon, Jo-Bear. We don't want to be late."

Joanna releases Spock to take his hand, gazing up at him and noting very seriously, "You look dashing, Captain Jim."

Jim can't help but puff his chest out at such a sincere compliment.

"Just stop it, you two," Jim hears Bones drawl, and he glances backwards to see Eleanor standing next to her son, both of them close to tears.

He swallows hard, because though he has never experienced the bittersweet feeling of watching a child grow up too fast, he can imagine how they must feel. "We're off," he proclaims in a too-cheerful voice.

Leonard surreptitiously dries his eyes and nods his assent.

Joanna waves an enthusiastic goodbye to her father and grandmother as Jim leads her through the front door. Spock is not far behind them.

Kirk's charge waits until they are out of hearing range of the house before boasting, "We're going to get all the neat candy, Captain!"

"You bet," he promises her. Then, to Spock with a wink, "And if a few pieces happen to be enjoyed before dinnertime, no one but us has to know."

Neither accepting or denying that claim, Spock settles in the backseat of the hovercar. "Captain, if we do not leave in precisely seventeen seconds, we shall be late."

"Then hold on to something!" Jim yells, hopping in the driver's seat.

Joanna shrieks in anticipation of a wild take-off. Jim, of course, sees no reason to disappoint his passenger. The hovercar shoots out of the yard, leaving behind a cloud of colorful foliage.

* * *

There was a good reason Joanna wanted Jim looking the part of a captain. All the other parents and guardians in the city hall eye their party of three with flustered or shocked expressions. Joanna proudly announces to each group as they pass by, "This is my daddy's friend, Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise!"

Jim, in turn, is flustered too, more so than he ever has been in the presence of peers.

He tries to, sometimes in vain due to Joanna practically mowing through the crowds of people, politely tack on, "And this is Mr. Spock, First Officer and Science Officer."

"Captain," Spock observes when they have finally been left to dawdle by a snack table while Joanna rounds up some of her classmates for introductions, "I suspect there may have been some expectation we might attend this festivity."

Jim adds, "Clearly a rumor most of the folks here weren't prepared to accept as true."

"Most... interesting."

Not to Jim. "Joanna," he says when the child finally reappears with a gaggle of other children in tow, small costumed creatures who stare at him before proceeding to gape at Spock in his traditional Vulcan attire and whisper to each other. "Did you tell anyone we were coming?"

"No," she answers innocently.

Jim isn't buying that. He uses a tone of voice normally reserved for errant subordinates. "I want an explanation."

The other children cease their whispering, but Joanna looks less impressed than they do. She crosses her arms. "I didn't _say_ you would be here, but I might have _implied_ it."

"Fascinating," Spock murmurs. Then, "How did you intend to ensure a successful outcome if not for the opportunity created by your father's unexpected illness?"

She doesn't appear to want to answer that question, stubbornly firming up her mouth.

Jim sighs, knowing he'll have to pry the full story out of her eventually. "We'll let this go for now, Joanna, because I have a promise to keep to your father. But rest assured, a proper explanation will be required from you later."

The girl pivots around to face her friends. "And that," she explains to them, "is why Captain Kirk is the best officer in all of Starfleet! He believes in equal treatment—and justice— for all, even children!"

Her classmates cheer and clap at the speech.

Jim puts his back to them, closing his eyes in dismay. "Spock, get me out of here."

"I cannot, Jim," Spock replies gravely. "We must see this through."

"What did I get us into?"

"Captain Jim!"

Jim turns back to Joanna with a resigned smile. Her friends have disappeared.

She holds out one paw-hand with a look of contriteness. "I want to trick-or-treat now, please."

Hopefully this part of the evening he can handle. "Then let's do it," he decides and once again lets her lead the way through the hall and into the unknown.

* * *

Trick-or-treating is as easy as Jim anticipated. In fact, it's oddly too _easy_ because it almost seems like as they venture out to the main street of the town with the other parent-child groups, the shop-owners are trying to woo them with candy.

To be more specific, trying to woo _him_.

This only has the effect of making Joanna McCoy more cheerful. "See, you're famous, Captain Jim!"

He knew that. Really, he did, because since the aftermath of the Narada Incident he worked hard to shy away from press coverage and the grateful public. It's easier to be a poster-boy for Starfleet when Jim can stay on his ship and do his job without any publicity stunts.

At some point, Joanna starts singing as she skips along to the next store.

Jim tugs at his uniform collar and avoids the eyes of a curious mother. Spock deftly switches his position to the street-side to act as a shield.

"Jim, are you well?"

"Sure," Jim mutters, and no, not really. He's starting to sweat from all the direct attention.

Spock stops walking, touching Jim's shoulder lightly in a silent request that Jim stop as well. Oblivious, Joanna skips ahead without them.

"We can't leave her," Jim protests immediately.

"Allow me to escort Miss McCoy to the next destination. No harm will come of you remaining here."

"Spock..."

Spock just looks at him.

Jim caves and waves a hand in tacit permission to proceed without him.

With only a few long strides, Spock catches up to Joanna, stopping her to speak to her and then indicating the shop-owner on the next block already waiting anxiously outside his door with a large bowl of candy and staring down the sidewalk directly at Jim.

Jim wipes his forehead and moves to an unoccupied bench nearby. Just sitting there and being able to focus on breathing helps him regain his balance. After a while, he can relax the fist clenched around the top of a plastic bag stuffed with treats. He sets it aside.

What a relief that Bones isn't here, he thinks. Leonard would understand him, though, having always been more perceptive about Jim's inner motivations than Jim himself. Bones knows how he feels, having to be Captain Kirk to everyone most of the time. A short relief, like this shore leave on Earth, allows him to simply be Jim.

"Mr. Jim?"

Jim lifts his head.

Latched tightly onto one of Spock's hands, Joanna stares at Kirk with tears in her eyes. "Mr. Jim, I made you sick, didn't I?" Her chin quivers.

He opens his arms without a thought, closing them around the child when she comes forward. "It's okay, JoJo. It's not your fault."

"Don't be mad," the child snuffles into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. "I'll be good from now on."

Jim pats her back. "You're not a bad kid."

When her whimpers change to sobs, he draws her from him to repeat firmly, "Hey, look at me. You're not a bad kid, JoJo."

"But I made you come here when you didn't want to!"

"Just who makes the great Captain Kirk do something he doesn't want to?" he demands, lifting his chin in defiance.

She sniffles and looks at him through watery eyes, considering. "Daddy does."

"Oh." Jim grins lopsidedly. "Yeah, he does."

"And you listen to him," she points out.

"I try to."

Calmer now, Joanna wipes her eyes with the back of one paw-hand, smearing some of the tan face paint she has on. "I'm glad you came to Georgia 'cause you like Daddy." She confides, "I was gonna get Granny to help me send a message asking you to come visit without Daddy finding out." Now she wipes her nose on the paw-hand. "That's how I planned to bring you here, so I could show everybody Daddy does have somebody. I thought you'd come if I asked 'cause maybe you like me too."

This child, Jim thinks, will be the death of him. But, oh, what an amazing way to go. "I do like you," he tells her with the utmost seriousness.

"Okay."

Jim taps the end of her nose playfully. "Now you're supposed to say how much you like me."

"I like Mr. Spock better."

Jim ducks his head to hide a grin. "That's fair, I guess."

Joanna taps his shoulder to get his attention again. Then, pointing at the bag of candy on the bench, she wants to know, "How come the adults keep givin' you more than me?"

"Because I'm cuter," he quips.

Joanna's eyes light up at the chance to argue. "Nuh-uh!"

"I'm just so cute, JoJo," he marvels aloud like he hasn't truly considered the matter deeply before now. "I think people can't help but give me all the treats." He picks up his candy bag and shakes it teasingly in front of her.

Having remained at a short distance while Jim comforted Joanna, Spock now turns his back upon the pair with the distinct impression he considers them too illogical to listen to. The Vulcan clasps his hands behind his back and makes a show of being preoccupied with other surroundings.

"That's our cue," Jim whispers to Joanna. "Eat as much of the good candy as you can so when we get home, it won't matter if your dad rations the rest!" Demonstrating this, he opens his bag, picks out the chewy kind of candy he likes best, and pops one of them in his mouth.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Joanna does the same. After her fifth piece, though, she stops digging around in her bag to question with an air of innocence, "Are you going to marry Daddy?"

Jim chokes on his mouthful of candy.

"If you aren't," the girl goes on to say, "I'm giving him to Mr. Spock."

Jim looks to the turned back of the Vulcan, eyes wide. "JoJo, I don't think Mr. Spock would know what to do with your father."

Joanna's look is the patented McCoy indignation. "Mr. Spock would take good care of my daddy."

Spock's back stiffens. Oh yes, Jim has guessed correctly. Spock can hear every word. He looks to McCoy's daughter again but her countenance has changed from irate to curious.

"Mr. Jim, do you want Mr. Spock to take care of you too?"

Jim offers her his bag of candy in lieu of answering, which she ignores. He realizes then that his years of training in the 'Fleet have not prepared him for the tenacity of an eight year-old.

The young girl leans in to whisper, "It's all right, Mr. Jim, I won't tell nobody... except for Mr. Spock of course. He's got to figure out how to fit you and him and Daddy in Daddy's room tonight. It's so _tiny!_ "

"My apartment in San Francisco is bigger," Jim murmurs.

She beams. "That's right. Mr. Spock!"

Spock twists around.

"Mr. Spock, we figured out a solution!" Leonard McCoy's daughter hollers loudly enough to be heard in the next county. "You can take Daddy back to San Francisco!"

Spock meets Jim's eyes. Over Joanna's head, Jim mouths, _Just play along._

"Excellent news," replies the Vulcan. "Should we inform your father immediately?"

Jim covers his eyes. He didn't mean play along _that_ far. Poor Bones, already ailing and about to find out his daughter has given him away to his two superior officers.

Joanna reaches back without warning and snatches up Jim's bag. "Thanks, Mr. Jim," she remarks too sweetly and flounces off, though Spock would probably point out that sehlats are not in the habit of flouncing.

But the Vulcan simply watches the girl in silence as she skips past him down the sidewalk, heading in the direction of the parking lot where they had left the hovercar.

Jim joins him. "What do you think?"

"She is adorable." Spock starts, catching his slip of information, and corrects with haste, "That is, Miss McCoy reminds me very much of I'Chaya."

Jim can't help his grin. "How so, Spock?"

"She can be imposing, willful, and often unpredictable. Yet I still find her most pleasing as a companion."

"Think you will be able to say the same about Bones?"

"Dr. McCoy," Spock replies in a graver tone, "will likely prove too difficult to tame."

"Didn't you once claim that about me?"

The look Spock slants at him is amused and a touch fond. "I did not say I would not appreciate the challenge."

"Glad to hear it, Spock." Jim lifts a hand and rests it on the Vulcan's shoulder blade. "I would love to have Bones join us too. He is our McCoy, after all."

"Hardly a revelation, Jim." Spock's dry rejoinder is accompanied by the offer of his hand for a discreet Vulcan kiss.

Jim is happy to oblige. Then, feeling more confident, he tugs Spock along the sidewalk in Joanna's wake, nodding to those who nod first to him and winking saucily at those who don't.

By now, Joanna will be chomping at the bit to return home and inform her father that he is for all intents and purposes engaged. Leonard will probably assume he is so feverish that he must be hallucinating.

Jim discovers that he very much looks forward to convincing McCoy of reality—and their future together as a family.

 **The End**

* * *

 **PS - Fun tidbit: In this headcanon, Joanna told her friends Captain Jim was her Daddy's somebody. Then she might have "implied" Spock was hers. But shhh, don't tell anybody!**


End file.
